


Happy Hour

by Aerlalaith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bi-Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fallen Castiel, Friendship, Gay Castiel, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, References to Drugs, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlalaith/pseuds/Aerlalaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m gay,” Castiel announced out of the middle of fucking nowhere.</p><p>Dean spat out his beer. “What? I mean, uh, congratulations?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Uh, 5th season sometime?

“I’m gay,” Castiel announced out of the middle of fucking nowhere.  
   
Dean spat out his beer. “What? I mean, uh, congratulations?”  
   
“Not that I don’t like women sometimes,” Castiel continued, staring at the ceiling as if it was going to reveal the goddamn secrets of the universe. “So maybe I’m just mostly gay.”  
   
“Bi,” muttered Dean.  
   
“What?” Castiel turned to look at him.  
   
Dean turned a little red. “On this, uh TV show I watch sometimes. The—one of the main characters is bisexual.”  
   
Castiel tilted his head. “What television show could _you_ possibly watch that features a bisexual character?”  
   
“Hey,” Dean said, kind of offended. “I’m a sensitive guy.”  
   
“That has nothing to do with anything,” Castiel informed him. He let his head flop back against the seat’s backrest. “I mean, a penis is nice—”  
   
Dean nearly inhaled his beer that time.  
   
“But women have these, these…” Castiel indicated.  
   
“Tits?” Dean wheezed.  
   
“Yeah, those,” Castiel agreed. “They’re just—they’re just so soft you know? And you can squeeze them.” He opened and closed his hands to demonstrate. Dean pointedly did not look. “Can’t really do that with a penis,” he said sadly. He glanced at Dean. “You know what I mean?”  
   
“Uh,” Dean floundered. Luckily, Castiel and his monologue about women and their, uh, assets, rescued him.  
   
“But I think everyone likes tits,” Castiel decided thoughtfully. And Dean was never going to be able to un-hear Castiel saying that word, with just enough annunciation on the ‘ts’ sound as it hissed through his teeth. “Men, women, people of indeterminate gender. They’re like—tits’re like the common human experience.”  
   
“Okay,” Dean managed. “Okay, that’s. Yeah, okay. What?”  
   
“I said,” Castiel repeated. “That tits,” (Dean was never using that word again, god.) “they’re like what binds us together.” He leaned forward and put his face uncomfortably close to Dean’s. “We could stop wars with tits,” he said fervently. “We could—”  
   
“Okay, Cas. Why don’t we just go back to the motel?” Dean suggested. He eyed the nearby bar patrons, who so far didn’t seem to be listening, but Castiel looked like he had the potential to turn up the volume a notch. “Time for bed.”  
   
The motel did not improve the situation.  
   
“God, Cas, why do you have to be such a goddamn octopus?” Dean complained, trying to detach himself from grabby grabby hands. The fact that he himself was not entirely sober did not help.  
   
“I want to cuddle,” Castiel decided.  
   
“ _Oh my god,”_ Dean said fervently. “That’s it, you’re never allowed to drink again.”  
   
Castiel frowned at him. “I’m not drunk,” he said, petulantly.  
   
“Um, yeah dude. Hate to break it to you. You are fucking wasted.”  
   
“But I’m not drunk,” Castiel said primly. “I’m stoned. There’s a difference.”  
   
 Dean stared at him. “What—how—when the fuck did you find time to get stoned?” he bellowed. “I was there—I was there the whole fucking time with you—”  
   
“The bathroom,” Castiel sighed, quite happily. “The gentleman in there offered me a joint. And also a blowjob.”  
   
Dean smacked his face with his palm. “And you just _took it_?”  
   
Castiel frowned. “I didn’t take the blowjob.” He paused, considering. He fingers traced peculiar patterns on the bedspread. “Maybe I should have, though. I mean, he _was_ offering.”  
   
“Castiel,” Dean said. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you do not go and take freely offered joints from strange men in bathrooms!”  
   
Castiel sat up. “Don’t be such a square,” he complained. “You drink all the time. It’s pretty much the same thing. In fact, a nice man I met, he said that alcohol is actually worse for you than marijuana.”  
   
Dean’s jaw opened and closed like a fish, not exactly sure what part of that sentence he wanted to tackle first. “What 'nice man’ you _met_?” Dean finally managed, and then promptly latched on to the next part. “Such a square?” Where had Cas even heard that phrase? His mind whirled. How many times had Castiel met strange men in bathrooms? How many of them had offered him drugs? Or blowjobs? Or—  
   
“He said he was a doctor.”  
   
“Jesus,” said Dean, “because that makes everything _so much better._ ”  
   
Well, at least Castiel had standards. Maybe they could marry him off.  
   
“He was really very nice,” said Castiel. He closed his eyes, yawning. “He even asked if I would like to see his nice apartment.”  
   
“That’s not—ugh.” Dean stopped. “Cas? Castiel?”  
   
Castiel mumbled something.  
   
“Cas, you did not just fall asleep. Get in your own bed. Get.” Dean pointed, like Castiel was a particularly disobedient collie.  
   
“No,” Castiel slurred. “Yours is more comfortable.” To make his point, he rolled over and hugged the nearest pillow bodily to him. “Mine has clothes on it.”  
   
“Yeah, it has your clothes, Cas!”  
   
“So?”  
   
Dean threw his hands in the air and glared up at the ceiling. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” he demanded. “Seriously, I would like to know.”  
   
“You did go to hell,” Castiel pointed out, again, so very helpful. He nuzzled into the pillow, with that stupid dopey grin that made him look even more like an ax-murderer than usual.  
   
Dean scowled at him, planting his hands on his hips. “Well _you_ got tossed out of heaven,” he couldn’t help retorting. Castiel poked his head out to look at him with the reproachful puppy eyes. God, had he been spending time with Sam again? Unacceptable. There needed to be some kind of intervention, if this was what was going to happen.  
   
“Hey,” Castiel told him. “That hurts my feelings.” He frowned, rubbing at his chest. “I think. I’m still a bit unfamiliar with the concept.” He returned to mashing his face into the pillow. “Sleep now.”  
   
Dean sputtered. “Cas.”  
   
Nothing.  
   
“Cas. Castiel.” A beat. “Look, I shouldn’t have said that. Can you go sleep in your own bed now?” Dean looked away, and then back at the lump on his bed. “Look, Cas. I’m sorry.”  
   
There was a thoroughly inelegant snore.  
   
Dean’s jaw worked. “Cas!” he snapped.  
   
In response, Castiel burrowed deeper into the covers.  
   
Dean stomped his foot. Then, grumbling, he went to go sleep in the other bed. Out of spite, he made sure to shove all of Castiel’s nicely folded clothes, perched right at the edge of the comforter, off onto the floor.  
   
He was awoken at 3 am by someone rummaging through his stuff. Within two seconds, Dean had flicked on the light and was pointing a gun at the corner where he had tossed his duffle the day before. He blinked when the perpetrator straightened guiltily.  
   
“Cas?” Dean lowered his gun. “What the hell are you doing?” He rubbed his eyes. Yes, that was a strip of beef jerky hanging between Cas’s teeth. And Castiel did also have that half of a giant chocolate cookie that Dean was saving, fisted in his left hand, with an equally giant bite mark taken right out of it.  
   
Castiel shielded his face against the sudden light. “I’m hungry,” he said, not at all pathetically.  
   
Dean stared.  
   
Castiel blinked back.  
   
Dean shut his eyes and flopped back down on the bed. “You owe me another giant cookie.”  
   
When had this become his life? At least Sam never stole Dean’s food—he had sense enough to get his own snacks. Well, and also he hated all the stuff Dean usually bought, which was definitely not why Dean bought it in the first place. Dean braced himself as Castiel shuffled on over and sat on the edge of the bed.  
   
“Dean.”  
   
“Go away.”  
   
“Dean.”  
   
“No eating on the bed, Cas. You’ll get crumbs everywhere.”  
   
_Chew, chew, chew, swallow_. “Dean.”  
   
Dean cracked open an eye. “Did you eat all of my cookie?” he complained.  
   
Castiel held up what could generously be described as a coin-sized piece of leftover cookie. “No.”  
   
“Give me that.”  
   
Castiel handed it over and Dean chomped on it sulkily.  
   
“I’m cold.”  
   
“Turn the heat on, then.”  
   
“Dean. I’m _cold_.”  
   
There were many ways this scenario could go, Dean knew. He could insist that Castiel return to his—well, Dean’s former—but now Castiel’s—but Dean had picked that bed deliberately—but Cas was sleeping in it, so—whatever, the _currently empty bed_ , and suck it up. He could get out of bed (vetoed) and go turn on the heat himself (it was probably broken). He could tell Castiel to put on a sweater. He could get him an extra blanket from the closet.  
   
Quietly Cas said, “Being human is terrible.”  
   
Dean sighed. “Get in,” he muttered, folding the covers back and scooting over. Castiel didn’t need telling twice. He brushed the crumbs off his pajamas and curled in next to Dean, all lankly limbs and bony elbows and (Dean yelped) cold hands. Dean was only slightly mollified by the fact that _he_ was the big spoon.  
   
They existed in the dark and the silence for a few moments. Castiel’s breathing slowly steadied out. Dean shifted to get Castiel’s elbow out of his stomach, wrapping an arm around his waist. Well, he was cold. And human.  
   
At least, Dean admitted, Cas was human enough to be cold. Human enough to be lonely.  
   
With that thought in mind, Dean allowed himself to nestle a little bit closer. Castiel had showered before going out that night, and the scent of Dean’s shampoo still clung to his hair. His skin was pretty soft too. Dean breathed in the familiar scent of him.  
   
“This is nice,” Castiel said.  
   
Dean nearly had a heart attack.  
   
“I thought you were asleep,” he managed to whisper.  
   
Castiel turned over, so now they were face-to-face, knees knocking. Dean could barely see the dips and shadows of his features where light shone in around the edges of the frayed curtains. Castiel shook his head.  
   
“I can’t go back to sleep.”  
   
Dean resisted the urge to groan. “Try counting sheep.”  
   
In the silence of his reply, Dean could imagine Castiel’s forehead wrinkling in confusion.  
   
“Cas?”  
   
“Being human is complicated,” Castiel said. And he sounded so exhausted that Dean couldn’t help but feel a guilty twinge in his chest.  
   
“Yeah. It is.” He let out a breath. “Do you—you know. Do you regret it?”  
   
Castiel inhaled sharply at the question. Dean winced a little. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was wobbly, uncertain. Almost like he was going to cry.  
   
Dean was so not prepared for that. He wished he hadn’t asked  
   
“I don’t regret why I’m—” Castiel swallowed. “I don’t regret _why_.”  
   
They were quiet for a moment.  
   
“Dean?”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“Can I, um…”  
   
Dean propped himself up on his elbow. “Spit it out, Cas.”  
   
Castiel took a deep breath. “Can you, um—”  
   
Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas. What.”  
   
“Can I have a hug?”  
   
Dean opened his mouth, then shut it, biting back his initial reply. “A hug?” he said instead.  
   
“Yes,” Castiel said, uncertainly. “It is an expression of comfort, is it not? Of brotherhood?”  
   
“I—yeah. I guess. But—”  
   
Castiel nodded. “Then I would like a hug, please.”  
   
And didn’t that make Dean feel like the biggest jerk in existence.  
   
“Uh,” he said. There was an expectant silence. “Okay.”  
   
There was a pause.  
   
“Do I have to initiate?” Castiel asked. He rolled forward.  
   
“No, no,” Dean said hastily. He managed to get his hand out from under himself in time for Castiel to collide into his chest. “I’ve got this. Here.” He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, a little bit gingerly. “The Dean Winchester Special.”  
   
Cas looked up at him, nearly knocking him in the chin with his head. “You have a special?”  
   
“No,” Dean said, exasperated. “It’s just—never mind.” He squeezed at Castiel’s shoulders a little, then made a face. “Don’t be so stiff, man. It’s like hugging cardboard. Relax.”  
   
“I am relaxed.”  
   
“No, Cas. You are the opposite of what is relaxed, right now.”  
   
“How?”  
   
“Just. Ugh. Like this.” Dean tried tensing his arms, then relaxing them. “Do like that.”  
   
“Like this?” Castiel somehow managed to tense his whole body further, and then relaxed it. Barely.  
   
“Kind of,” said Dean.  
   
“Dean.”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“Is this, ‘awkward’?”  
   
Dean looked heavenward. “Yes, Cas. This is a little bit awkward.”  
   
“Oh.” A beat. “Is it because of what I said earlier?”  
   
Dean cast his mind back. Castiel said a lot of strange things; it was hard to keep track. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, dude,” he said finally.  
   
“Oh.” Castiel faltered. “About penises,” he clarified. “And breasts.”  
   
Dean twitched. Oh yeah. That. At least it wasn’t ‘tits’ anymore. Thank god for small favors. “No.”  
   
“Are you lying?”  
   
Dean grit his teeth. “Cas,” he said. “I appreciate that you feel comfortable in your, uh, sexuality. If I minded the fact that you like dick, I probably wouldn’t be in the same bed, hugging you right now. Okay? Now shut up.”  
   
“Okay,” Cas said.  
   
There was a glorious minute of silence.  
   
“Does this mean that you like penises too?”  
   
Dean’s face flared. “That is _not_ the topic under discussion right now.”  
   
Castiel frowned. “I wouldn’t mind either, Dean.”  
   
“Go back to sleep, Cas.”  
   
“It’s completely normal.”  
   
“Cas.”  
   
“One more thing.”  
   
“What.”  
   
“You give very nice hugs.”  
   
“I—” Dean blinked. “Thank you?”  
   
“You’re welcome.” Cas yawned. “I think I can sleep now. But you can keep hugging,” he added.  
   
Dean did not deign to reply to that. But he also did not let his arms drop.  
   
After maybe five minutes had passed, and Dean was just about settling down to get some more shut-eye, he heard Castiel’s stomach growl. Dean sighed. Well, it’s not like he was going to be getting a good night’s sleep anyway.  
   
“…you’re still hungry, aren’t you,” he said, not even bothering to whisper.  
   
“I think so,” Castiel admitted. “Sorry.”  
   
Dean sat up, shoving the covers back. “Out.”  
   
“What?” Castiel struggled to sit up, too.  
   
“Get out, get dressed.”  
   
“But Dean—”  
   
Dean switched on the light. “Now,” he said.  
   
“But why?” Castiel said plaintively, his hair fluffed up in all directions, his face a mask of betrayal. “Did I do something wrong?”  
   
“No,” Dean said, “we’re going to the 24-hour diner. Now put your goddamn shoes on.”  
   
Castiel looked confused for a moment, then Dean’s words penetrated. His eyes lit up. “Can I have pancakes?”  
   
“Once you put some pants on, yeah.”  
   
Castiel scrambled to obey.  
 


End file.
